Listen
by DarenDoe
Summary: [Set post-OVA/manga] A relative calm has settled upon the Hellsing organization, bringing with it a sense of terrible unease and foreboding. The calm before the storm is disturbed by small, seemingly unrelated incidents throughout the world in which the haunting melody of death is sung. Alucard fights for his throne while Seras Victoria merely fights for her life and dignity.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I neither own nor harbor any rights regarding _Hellsing_ or any like productions.

 _Listen_

 **Chapter One: The Melody**

* * *

"Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed- in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory.'

'Where, O death, is your victory?

Where, O death, is your sting?'

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."

-1st Corinthians 15: 51-58

* * *

Amidst the silence of the broken world and absence of all things living laid a woman breathing. Breathing, but not alive. With every gentle rise of her chest, the books which peered over the sagging and warped bookshelves seemed to scrutinize the abomination which went against nature's laws. Here the woman laid with an ethereal glow of radiance which would never grow old and fade away; here the woman laid with a body of false fragility that could withstand more than any mortal could; here the woman laid with the metallic odor of the essence of life which ran through all living being's veins upon her breath; here the woman laid in an eternal paradox: dead, and yet alive.

The fire which blazed brightly against two marble columns shrunk to a low roar as a cool gust blew through the great library. With it, the wind carried the faintest scent of life that had drifted far from a bustling metropolis. The wind snuck through the room, curling along the musty books and scattering their layers of dust before dropping to the polished floorboards and creeping along, not minding to skirt around the woman.

The woman's breathing hitched and then stopped altogether. The fire returned to its great height as the woman took in a deep, long breath. Suddenly her eyes flew open as she breathed in again, the lively scent tantalizing her senses. She rose to her feet, her nose in the air as her lids fell closed once again.

As a smile, small and morose, graced her features, her eyes, in all their scarlet, burning glory, focused on the opened window. She took a step, perhaps two, towards the window whose drapes danced in the light breeze. Stopping at the windowsill, the woman poked her head out into the night and relished in the scent that lingered on the wind. She took in another breath, her smile only dipping down further as the bittersweet perfume seemed to entice her and beckon her further out into the night.

"London," said a voice that seemed to vibrate the very foundations of the old mansion.

The woman froze, her golden bangs falling over her crimson eyes that were wide in surprise. After all this time, she still could not sense his presence.

Footsteps echoed through the grand room, seemingly getting lost in the high walls and domed ceiling. The shadows that rested along the windowsill lengthened and crept along the woman's gloved fingers. She hastily pulled away as they bit at her un-aging skin through the gloves.

"What a beautiful night it is."

The woman, if this had been many, many years ago, would have shrieked and hid behind one of the many bookshelves. But now, after all the years of trials, pain, and victory, the woman merely continued to gaze out at the night which was, indeed, beautiful.

"Hm." The deep voice broke the silence that had fallen once again. The woman jumped slightly, the suddenness dragging her out of her thoughts. "Why so quiet tonight, Police Girl?"

The woman sighed at the old nickname. She was still unsure if she enjoyed the old pet name or found it annoying. Only time would tell, and they both had more than enough on their hands.

"It's her," she said after a moment, turning from the window and moving towards where she had been laying before. She scooped up a book and wiped off a few squirming shadows that had manifested on it. "She should be back by now."

"My master?"

"Yes, Sir Integra. She's at an appointment in town. She was supposed to be back by midnight." The woman settled herself in an armchair that was nestled near the fire. She propped her legs up on the ottoman and leaned into the chair's cushioned back. She found her marked page within the book that rested on her lap, but could not find it in her to read. There was something about the tardiness of her friend and superior that had her tapping her fingers against the chair's arm in an anxious rhythm.

"Nervous?" the library's intruder purred into the woman's ear.

The woman shifted away from the bodiless voice and rolled her shoulders at the unease that the little "trick" still brought her. She glanced over at the man who now stood before the fire with his back faced to her.

The man was far taller than the mantle, which already belittled the woman, and had broad shoulders that was only emphasized by the red duster that hung loosely around his form. A wide brimmed fedora that was as crimson as the duster heavily contrasted the man's thick, ebony locks that brushed along his shoulders. His hands were clasped against the small of his back, and the woman just _knew_ that he had his oh-so famous grin plastered across his face.

A clock tolled out, telling the two that midnight was upon them. The woman pursed her lips, her fingers returning to their anxious tapping – this time against the book's yellowed pages.

"A bit," the woman confessed after some time, her eyes wandering over the man before her. He turned towards her and a few dark bangs fell before his eyes, obscuring them from view. And she was right; the grin was there in its entire impish, sinister glory. She caught sight of a fang before the man began to speak again.

"Do not worry, Police Girl, my master can fend for herself. Better than _you_ can for _yourself_."

The woman tensed in her chair despite knowing that his words were trying to draw a reaction from her. Before she could help herself, she spat out a retort; "Perhaps. _Before_ , back when I was young."

"Oh?" The man cocked his head and the woman wanted nothing more than to smack off his condescending smirk. "When you were young? Is that so? And, pray tell, what are you now? Old and wise?" He moved forward faster than she could react. He was suddenly towering over her chair, hands on either armrest, his face mere centimeters from her own. His irony breath blew against her face while she stopped breathing altogether, not wanting to give away her inner panic.

She knew this game well. It was what children called "chicken". One child would try to intimidate the others and call them on their bluffs. This was no different. He had been doing it for some time now. Constantly cornering her, trying to coax out some sort of reaction. She denied him the pleasure of her fear she had _then_ and didn't dare show any sort of the frustration, annoyance, and – she admitted – panic she had _now._

The woman held her ground and merely smiled pleasantly, forcing her rigid body to relax somewhat. She steeled her mind against his, not wanting him to peer in and see the panic within.

"Yes, something like that," she said slowly, her eyes trying to search for his that were still hidden behind the shadows his bangs casted. How could he do that? How could he create a darkness that even she couldn't see through?

A laugh, cold and cruel, sliced through the momentary silence. She felt herself tense as she clutched her book tighter.

"You? Wise?" he barked as laughter ran through him. He hung his head as his hands left the chair and grasped onto his chest while laughter racked his body. He hollered and snickered before completely losing himself in his maddening cackle. He took a few steps back, doubling over as his dark mirth consumed him entirely.

The woman rose to her feet, tossing her book aside carelessly. Her lips curled over her teeth, her lengthened, razor-sharp incisors visible. No, she would not be treated like this. No, she would not let him belittle her any longer. She was no longer that shy, timid woman who would never dare oppose her master. No, Seras Victoria was now, truly, _Seras Victoria._ She was, just as him, a force of nature in which nothing could conquer. Fearless and dauntless; powerful and sure. She would no longer bear the sting of his contemptuous insults nor would she settle for being treated as an incompetent, little fool.

"Things have changed, _Master,"_ she hissed his given title as she stalked up to him. The pure anger and aggravation that dripped from her words silenced the cackling man, making him return his eye-less gaze to the woman before him.

Something changed in the air. Tension poured into the library and crashed into the two in wave after wave of crackling electricity that begged for either one to make the first move. Shadows, their origins lying in both the man and the woman, crept forth from the library's shelves and alcoves. They slithered up the walls and scourged the floorboards, making a point in skirting around one another's. The tendrils of manifested darkness remained at bay while the man and the woman slowly began to circle one another, calculating the other.

"Nothing has changed, _police girl,_ " he purred above the chaotic whirring and snickering of the shadows that only creatures of the night could hear. The shadows seemed to be mocking one another as they, too, began to dance around the other, sizing them up. Surety was written across the man's face, only enraging the woman further.

"Oh, but it has." Her tone was grave, as if warning the man to heed some unspoken threat.

The man's sure, almost bemused expression slipped into a terrible frown of sudden wrath that contorted the once handsome man's features into that of a true demon. Eyes, hundreds upon thousands, popped up and swam within his ever increasing ocean of pure darkness. They were crimson and unblinking, and completely focused on the woman.

Instead of trembling and falling into submission beneath the great flex of power that would have reduced the woman to a babbling mass of fear had this been the past, the woman merely stood taller and smirked over at the man. They continued to step around one another, each running their deck of tactics and tricks through their heads of – according to the man - how to deal with this situation and – according to the woman – how best to _win._

"You have been gone for quite some time, Master. Things have changed; people have changed. _I_ have changed." Her right hand twitched as fury, greater than any she had seen directed at her in the past by the man, mixed and morphed together with wrath, creating something truly terrible. "I'm not going to be treated like some pathetic servant any longer. I demand – "

"And just who - ," he spat out the words, looming closer and closer to the woman through their tension fueled, distorted tango. "—do you think you are? Talking like that to the _King_? You _demand_ something from me? _ME?!_ Your master?! Listen here, _servant._ I do not stand to be treated in such a way. You will obey! And this," the man brushed against the woman as they rounded one another, coming to a stop just a step beyond the other's back. "This rebellious little tirade ends here. You sound like a _brat_ -," he scoffed the word. The red eyes bobbing along the surface of his tumultuous shadows were still trained on the woman who was grinding her fangs together in both anticipation and anger. "- no, like an _upstart_. And do you know what I do to upstarts in my court?"

Just as the man spun on his heels and lunged at the woman, his jaws wide, the doors to the library were flung open and light poured in. The shadows of both the man and the woman instantly receded, melting into the background once again. The woman, who had been crouched and ready for the attack, straightened and threw a hand over her gaze, blocking out the sudden and harsh light. The man bared his teeth and hissed at the intruder, casting his heavy, wrath-filled gaze upon them.

An elderly woman with grey hair and a few stray streaks of fading blond wisps, stood before the man with a look of rage that matched his own. Age-lines were accented as her lips twitched and her brows knitted together in pure fury.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" she growled, taking a terrific stride forward. When she was given no answer, the woman stamped her foot. It would, had it been any other woman, have been seen as a stereotypical sign of feminine distress, but, since this was _Sir Integra_ , the stamp held the power to quiet even the most noble of lords and command the attention of thousands of soldiers. "I said, pathetic beast: what the bloody hell is going on here?!"

The man straightened and met her gaze, anger still smoldering behind his crimson irises. "I was giving a lesson, my master. A lesson, if I must say, you ruined."

Sir Integra scoffed. "A lesson? To whom? Miss Victoria? Need I remind you, slave; she is no longer your jurisdiction."

The words infuriated the man even more, if it were possible. He snarled, showing his lengthened incisors. "All creatures of the night are my jurisdiction."

"Not when they are owned by me. And you, _King Alucard,_ " she sneered his name. "Are owned by my family's blood. Now, begone, demon."

Forced by the command of his master, Alucard was swept up in a great wave of shadows and the library suddenly lightened. The fire began to roar again, and the lights overhead flickered on once more. The moment the last shadow dissipated into nothingness, the elderly woman slumped against the library's wide doors. She groaned, her head hanging limply before her.

Seras jumped to attention and was instantly at the woman's side. "Sir," she rested a hand on the elder woman's shoulder. As the graying woman leant against her, Seras wrapped an arm around the woman's waist. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Does he really have to be such an ass? After all these years? You'd think he'd learn," the elderly woman groaned, lifting her head to look down into the younger woman's eyes.

Seras searched Sir Integra's one eye, looking for any tell-tale signs of distress or anything that needed to be worried over. Instead, all Seras found was one blue eye that had become clouded with age and shone wearily in the light. She felt the other woman's shoulders sag against her own as if they were weighed down by the world. And, in a way, they did. This woman, who was only ever defeated by age, held within her blood the restraint on the darkest of all demons, the worst of all tyrants. She possessed within the palm of her hand the power to squander all forces of evil, and, in the other hand, the ability to call on the demons that lurked in the night. Though Integra was burdened with the task of playing Atlas at a young, pivotal age, she was reluctant about the thought of breeding an heir. She thought that, with the superbity of youth and the volatile nature that most men with power had, the world and - worse yet - the Hellsing Organization would fall into fiery ruin had she produced an heir. When one man was given too much power, they were doomed to insanity.

And for that very reason, Sir Integra had waited and waited, bidding her time until she found it within herself to bring forth a child and new heir to the Hellsing legacy into this world. But she had been too reckless; the time slipped through her fingers like sand, and, much like Poe, she found herself pleading and begging for more time. Fertility had up and left without a second thought, leaving Hellsing in a position in which it had never dared to fear to be in; without the blood bonds, what was left to chain the vampire to a human master?

Sir Integra sighed, shivering despite the warmth the hearth provided the library. Though neither said it, Seras knew that the great Iron Maiden's body was failing her. Time, in the end, conquerors all. All except for those who were dammed to Hell.

"Seras," Sir Integra whispered. The younger woman brought her elder closer, practically holding her in her arms. "I...," she trailed off, not able to voice her concerns for once. The fear and uncertainty of the future brought her at a loss for words. She shook her head and tore her eye away from the woman with the scarlet gaze, looking towards the opened window instead. "Seras, you mustn't let him hold power over you."

Seras was quiet for a moment before responding, "Well, Sir. It's not that easy. He's _still_ my master. Time and his absence didn't mean anything. My blood still answers his." She had grown quiet at her last words and had set her sights on the window as well. From here, at the opposite end of the library, Seras was still able to see far beyond the pristinely cut lawn and over the tops of the dense forest all the way to the outskirts of London. The very same London that was a husk of its former self, a disgrace to its former glory.

"Really? Even after _that_?" Seras stiffened beside Sir Integra, her expression pointedly neutral when Sir Integra glanced down at her out of the corner of her eye.

"Yes…" Seras locked her jaw, her eyes narrowing at even the mention of _that._ No, Seras certainly did not want to reminisce about things that were better left in the past. Sir Integra leaned a bit away from the shorter blond who had become as still as a statue. She shouldn't have mentioned it, Sir Integra knew, but it was an inescapable fact that _that_ happened. How much longer would she have to skirt around the subject of that gruesome tale just for the sake of Seras playing ignorant to the sins she committed? How much longer would she pretend –

"Besides," Seras' voice cut through the silence that had grown between them. "I think that, even if he wasn't my master, it'd still have to answer to him. He is the king, after all."

"Whatever that's good for." Sir Integra sighed, shifting what little weight she was supporting without Seras' help between her legs, trying to ease the strain on her hips. "He hasn't been around to govern his domain for 130 years. He's lost his right to call himself the king."

"No, it doesn't work like that." Sir Integra turned towards Seras, her expression demanding an explanation. Seras didn't notice, however, for her gaze became unfocused as she drifted through her memories, picking out things here and there from the few times she had encountered true vampire society.

When she had come across those within the true realm of night who submitted to the rules of the darkness and functioned like a normal society, Seras had been picked out time and time again as the fledgling of the great and powerful king. She hadn't have told them her name, and yet they knew. When asked how, they had responded – each, on every occasion – that it was because of the aura of dark power that radiated from her. The vampires had said that it was not dissimilar from the king. It was impossible to miss, they said. And because of her known relation to the king, she had been both held in high regard as well as feared by many of the vampires and other creatures of the night. Though the No-Life king had not been seen in over a century, the mere mention of his name inspired loyalty, respect, and fear alike in the un-beating hearts of all.

"How so?" Sir Integra said impatiently, tearing Seras out of her contemplative and nostalgic state.

"Oh, right. Well… Well, I just get a feeling that master is someone you can't easily forget."

Sir Integra nodded, knowing full well what Seras meant. Yes, she was absolutely right. Even after 30 years of waiting, the woman of steel still had the feeling that Alucard's presence lurked within the darkened corridors of the Hellsing manor. He was a creature of epic proportions whose absence was never fully felt. The darkness left in his wake gave one the impression that he was never truly gone, that he would one day return and wreck havoc once again. Even the faintest of shadows he casted held the power to burn his ferocity, power, and sovereignty into one's mind, forever instilling the sense of fear and foreboding.

"Sir," said a soft voice from behind the women. Sir Integra instantly leapt out of Seras' arms, not wanting a soul in the world to see her in such a weak position. Sir Integra abhorred every and all the social climbing men who were power hungry – and were quite transfixed with her seat in the Round Table – that would constantly pester the old woman with their 'worrying' of her old age. Oh, she knew that those bottom feeders were all too eager for her to keel off so that they could take her place. Bastards, the lot of them.

But, instead of some youthful aristocrat, it was one of the two retainers assigned to Hellsing not long after the Battle of London and Walter's betrayal.

"Ah, Yuri, you had me worried. I had you pegged for one of those youths."

Yuri Antipov was a tall, lean man who was in his early forties. He, and his identical—save for a scar that marred Yuri's jaw – brother, were found in the line of battle some years ago. They had been younger then, still in their early twenties, and had been rebels fighting against their abusive government. The two had been inseparable since birth and because of this they had developed a style of fighting that was both unique and deadly in the extreme. The two knew one another's bodies and limits so well that, when in combat, they functioned as one. Alexandre, the other brother, specialized in hand-to-hand combat while Yuri was far more than efficient in the ability to use and throw daggers. Their most deadly technique, though, came from the fact that the two were spawned of both a human and a fae-like creature which had the ability to shift from a humanoid appearance to that of its true self; a balaur. A balaur was a creature related to the common mythical dragon. But, as Seras found out the hard way, dragons were truly not mythical. Rare, but far from mythical. When in battle, the twins came together to merge into one being; a polysepalous balaur with staggering height and rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth.

When all was said and done, the twins had been given an invitation to join Hellsing once the revolution had been quelled. The two agreed and rose quickly through the ranks, proving to be two of the most important assets of the Hellsing agency. After some time, the two were given a choice of serving under an off branch of the Hellsing organization or to work directly for Sir Integra as personal assistants, advisors, and retainers. They had agreed to the later, for they were fully loyal to the hardened leader. Now the two aided Sir Integra in running the organization and sifted through much of the heaps of paperwork to lessen the stress on the elderly woman. They were also, just as Walter had been before his devastating turn of heart, a trump card that Sir Integra kept with her at all times.

"No, Sir, not at all," said the man, clasping his hands behind his back. " Just checking in to remind you of a conference you are holding in the west end's drawing room with Sir Walsh." His accent, thick as the day Sir Integra whisked him and his brother out of the throes of revolution and war, was naturally gruff, but Yuri's soft tone made his voice more enchanting than anything. His words seemed to dance through the air, enticing all with its foreign melody. "He'll be here in twenty minutes, but, knowing his lack of punctuality, I say that you have about forty minutes before his arrival."

"Walsh?" inquired Sir Integra, fishing through her pockets in order to procure a cigar. When her search was proven to be in vain, Yuri stepped into the library and handed Sir Integra a cigar and held out a lit lighter. Taking a deep inhale of the noxious fumes, the woman nodded, rubbing her fingers against the bridge of her nose in stressed aggravation. "Yes, yes. I remember. He's here to talk about defense, no doubt. That, and a bloody heir."

Yuri nodded, returning both the case of cigars and the lighter to an inner pocket of his suit's jacket. The twins, despite Seras' teasing that they looked like the Men in Black, dressed in ink black suits that were impeccable and always without stain. It didn't seem to bother either of them that the suits were always completely shredded once they merged and transformed into their true self.

"Yes, Sir. Do you have any special requests regarding preparations for his arrival?"

"No." Sir Integra parted her lips slightly, letting the smoke leisurely float up and away. "Walsh is the one bringing the reports this time. All I have to do is sit there and think about how best to annihilate the enemy."

"Charming," Yuri said, sarcasm dripping from his voice as good natured mirth turned the corners of his mouth up in a smile.

"Yes, truly."

* * *

The curtains were drawn open as the grandfather clock tolled out the passing of some midnight hour. Moonbeams streamed into the quaint drawing room that held within it two chairs and a solitary table that were pushed towards the far window and had, framed around a center rug, couches and plush armchairs sparingly placed about. A fire had been started for the late fall air seeped in through the walls, bringing with it the bitter sting of cold. A woman, old and graying, sat within an armchair facing the fire and puffed away at her cigar, careful that her suit didn't catch any stray ashes. Two men, identical in nearly every regard, stood off to the side, blending in with the background of the room. Behind them, in the lurking shadows, was a young woman who, every so often, would peak her head out from the wall to properly survey the elderly woman's state of impatient annoyance.

"Am I late?" came a gruff voice from the doorway.

"As always," Sir Integra replied without looking over at the man and his escort. The man came to rest in the armchair beside Sir Integra's, sighing in relief as he settled within the soft cushions. Time was, obviously, as rough on his body as it had been for Sir Integra. "Sir Walsh," Sir Integra said, snuffing out her cigar on a tray resting on the chair's arm. "To what do I owe the pleasure? There must surely be a need great enough for you to demand a meeting at the last moment."

"I wouldn't say that three days is the last moment. But, nonetheless, I do bear news." The man shifted in his seat, waving over his broad shouldered escort and taking from the young man a briefcase. "Have you caught wind of the events happening within the countries of Southeast Asia?"

Sir Integra raised a brow as one of the twins collected the tray and spent cigar. "No. That land is not under our protection. Why should I?" It was true; the Round Table's, the Protestant Church's, and even the Queen's domain did not stretch far from England. All news of the outside world was, for the most part, casted aside in favor of fighting the supernatural on the home front. But, every so often, a client or a far off branch of the protestant church would request assistance in dealing with the pesky creatures of the night. Sir Integra had been lucky for the past few years in terms of long-distance missions. It was, as Sir Integra feared, as if all the chaos was gathering itself together and waiting and plotting, preparing for the right time to strike and take the world by surprise and force.

"Well," the man entered the security code and flicked open the case, "You should have. We fear that the world may be going to Hell. _Again_." Sir Integra stiffened as a shadow, along the wall where the fire's shadows danced, paused, listening intensely.

The man shifted through a stack of papers before handing a few shaky camera shots over to Sir Integra. The iron maiden grimaced at the scenes of fire and madness, of obliteration and towns rendered to dust.

"What is this?" she demanded, studying one picture intently.

"That one is of a village in South Vietnam. We had a team stationed there for about a month or so. We were informed about these creatures, under the cover of night, coming and raiding whole villages. Sounds like vampires? That's what we thought. So I sent in a team. Highly trained, seen the face of combat before. The mission was created out of simplicity and had been pegged as a one-and-done mission. Everything was going routine until…" The man pulled out a small, portable laptop from the briefcase and closed the case, setting the laptop atop of it.

"This is a video one of the members of the team sent in before we lost contact with them four days ago."

From Seras' position within the wall, all she could gather from the video was the sound of heavy panting, loud footfalls, machine guns being fired left and right, swearing in a multitude of languages, and a noise that made her clasp her hands over her ears. It was horrible, the noise. It was the shriek of a banshee combined with a whirlwind of demonic chanting. It was indescribable. Whatever it was forced Seras to fall from her hidden spot along the wall and onto her knees, crying out in pain as she bled from her ears. Even through the terrible quality of audio from the video, the shrieking that accompanied the sounds of tearing flesh and spurts of blood made Seras double over, gripping her head as if it were about to explode.

"Seras? Seras!" Sir Integra flew from her chair and ran over to the vampiress that was contorting in on herself as the terrible, terrible shrieking continued and only seemed to amplify in intensity. Sir Walsh had risen from his chair, the laptop and briefcase in hand as he watched in horror as thin streams of blood continued to poor from the undead woman's ears.

It burned. It burned from the inside out. It was if someone had ignited Seras' soul on fire. It felt as if it were eating its way out of her. The pain was unbearable. Her claws dug into her skin as she screamed over and over again; "Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!"

Two gunshots rang through the air and the relief was immediate. Seras slumped against the floor and the elderly woman as Sir Walsh stood in pure petrifaction. No longer in his hands were the laptop and briefcase; instead, they both were scattered around the room, completely decimated by the gun too powerful to be wield by a human.

Standing between the women and Sir Walsh was the crimson clothed vampire who had sprung up between the floorboards upon hearing the God awful shriek and the cries of his fledgling. "Is that the kind of music the kids are into these days?"

No-one laughed. Instead, the only one who even dared move was Sir Integra. She rose slightly and casted her furious gaze upon the horrible, facetious, contemptuous, narcissistic, egotistical vampire.

"What the bloody hell was that for, Alucard?!"

Mirth was written across his features as he swung his gun between his nimble fingers. "Well, someone had to stop the screaming or else the police girl would have bled out."

At the mention of her name, Seras glared up at her master from where she was healing—slowly, for that matter—on the floorboard, amidst the pool of her own blood.

Sir Integra glanced down at the vampire who was slumped against her lap, nursing her ears that had blood drying along the folds and creases. Worry flashed across her features. Seras Victoria was not a woman to feign or to exaggerate pain, so an outburst like this could only have been produced by something powerful and… otherworldly.

Seras straightened, climbing to her feet before extending a hand to Sir Integra. The woman waved the hand away though she found that the simple act of rising to her feet had her groaning under her breath. Sir Integra smoothed an unseen wrinkle in her suit as she strode over to the remains of the laptop and the briefcase. She toed through the smoking bits of hard drive and faux leather.

"What were the creatures that destroyed the unit? I presume they were not vampires. And," she added, glancing over at Seras, "what about those creatures had that effect on my soldier?"

"Well," Sir Walsh thawed, some of his boyish charm returning along with the color in his cheeks. "We don't know, actually. We ran it through some screen tests, but found no matches –"

"Wait, you didn't hear it?" Seras inquired, cutting off Sir Walsh. The two knights turned towards her, both their interests piqued.

"Hear what?" Sir Integra's shoes crunched over a letter key.

"That – that shrieking. It was bloody terrible. You didn't hear it?"

Sir Walsh sent Sir Integra a sidelong glance before crossing his arms, stepping out of the pile of rubbled laptop bits. "No, Miss Victoria. We didn't. What was it like, the shriek?"

"It is different to each being of the night," said the mocking voice of Seras' master. Everyone in the drawing room, even the twins, turned their attention to the elder vampire whose face was contorted in cruel glee. "It is a melody only able to be heard by those who walk beneath the moon. To some, it resembles the screams and cries of their perished loved ones. To others, it may sound like their own anguished pleas of mercy. It is, in theory, the culmination of one's worst fears mixed with the most painful memories they have lived. It is the sound of Hell."

Seras noticed, as her master took two steps towards the middle of the room, that, along his slender neck, a trail of blood had dried. The lobes of his ears, too, were dyed a faint crimson.

"It is the rallying cry of war in which every creature is rendered inept. It can slip through the most impenetrable of minds, the most impregnable of walls. It is poisonous and all-consuming. It is the singing of a race thought to have fallen extinct. But, evidently, they have risen once again from the ashes of ruin. And, my Master," Alucard purred, relishing in the face of a newfound enemy, "it just so happens that I have a bone or two to pick with them. It seems that the old rulers of the night wish to oppose the king that overthrew them. It seems that a war against the crown is looming over us."

* * *

AN: Hello there! If you've made it here - congrats! In the further chapters of this story I will be surfacing events in which happened during Alucard's appearance as well as incorporating the new threat. As you may have noticed, this will have the vampiric and general supernatural society posed as a general plot idea. Oh! I nearly forgot! My view on Seras is that, after the 30 year gap, she developed some, er, balls. She has always been a brave and gutsy girl, but now Pip has rubbed off on her so much that she has even developed the nerve to stand up to her master. Speaking of that, I purposely made Alucard and Seras' relationship tense and strained. The two have quite a bit to work through (most of it being that Alucard still expects Seras to be a rather submissive servant who constantly has her tail between her legs, even after the London incident). This is just going to be a rather fun relationship to navigate. Also, I really - oh, wait! I shouldn't give everything away! But, gentle reader, there are going to be some rather fun action scenes in here. *Wink, wink* Alright, last freebie!

Update: Just some grammar updates. There'll be more to come, I'm sure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: An Old Friend**

* * *

"There is a _what?!_ " bellowed Sir Integra. "There is a war?! _Another one?!_ " Sir Walsh backpedaled as Sir Integra took a terrific stride toward her servant, her thin frame nearly shaking with rage. "How dare you claim that there is another war! We have only _begun_ finishing on cleaning up the _last_ war. And now you say that there is another to be waged? Bullshit! What information do you have to support your claims? What facts do you base this on? There must be some because the pure audacity you posses to even consider claiming war within my presence—"

Alucard raised his hand as if to silence the hardened director of the infamous Hellsing Organization. Sir Integra snarled, stalking up to her servant whose shadows still lapped around his ankles.

"Oh, no. No, do _not_ push me off this time, slave! I shall not be ignored! I demand to know all there is about this acclaimed war."

Alucard cocked his head, simply smiling at the woman before him. "Is that an order, my Master?"

"I- wha- of course it is, you imbecile!"

"Hm," Alucard's grin became mad as he bowed his head, crossing his arm across his chest. "As the word of my master bids, I shall deliver." The great vampire straightened, his shadows calmly settling where a normal man's shadow would lie. "It is not so much a war as it is a retaliation against my power—a revolution, if you will." Behind him, the twins stiffened, their attention fully piqued. "You see, my Master, I was not the first to rule the un-life. Before me stretched an ancient lineage—a dynasty—of night creatures that ruled over my domain and did as I did; sought audiences, devised court systems, emplaced laws and customs, provided order and structure, and the like. The only conceivable difference between they and I was their greed. You think me to be a creature who readily dabbles in the unholy vices, but I am a saint compared to those creatures.

"There was once a time when the creatures of the night ruled over the world. It was long, long ago. Before either of our times. When night and day were irrelevant, as was time. When man was taking his first, shaky steps toward his stained glory he has now proclaimed for himself. It was a time of myth and fables, a time where legends were forged and heroes were born. It was then that a race so ancient that their name has long since been forgotten governed over the night.

"They, with their natural superiority over all other creatures—even the ancestors of vampires-, were granted complete sovereignty over the realm. In their tyranny, they grew bored. Bored of the monotony of life that came with a peaceful domain. So they sought war. Not any small, respectable war, but rather a large, all-consuming war. Much like our old antagonists, Millennium, who sought nothing but the world and their demise."

Sir Integra stiffened at the mention of Hellsing's old adversary. A force that never truly died away. Because… how can one truly destroy an idea?

"What does that have to do with today?" piped in Sir Rob Walsh who had found himself seated within the armchair once again. "A war of the past does not define today."

"Oh," Alucard's smile carved its way from ear to ear so that each fang glistened in the fire's light. "You should know more than anyone that war is what paves history. It is the edge that defines one's reign. History is written by the victors, and the victors come through the gore of war. War is the most vital part of life. It is the balancing of the scales of life; take some, lose some. It is the waging of corrupt minds in the hope of some idealistic utopia—because each side believes their cause to be just and right. It is only the winners who can say that their cause was the true one. No-one wishes to listen to the beaten drunk at the end of a bar. No, people wish to listen to those decorated head to toe in metals."

"Yes, b-bu-but," Walsh stuttered, falling submissive beneath the elder vampire's gaze.

"But how does _this_ war define today, exactly?" Sir Integra finished for him, folding her arms across her chest. Her fingers tapped against her forearm, her tell-tale sign that she was due for a new cigar.

"Ah," Alucard returned his crimson gaze to his master. "How? Why, just look around you."

Sir Integra merely held out her hand, which a lit cigar was placed into by one of the twins, and inhaled. Upon exhaling a plume of smoke, she raised her brow, clearly asking for an explanation.

"Hm. Why do you believe the world fears the darkness so much? And yet so tantalizing? What is it about the night that appeals to the shadows within our minds? Do you know?"

"People fear what they do not understand," said a voice from behind the great vampire. He turned, his brows raised. "And yet people crave the unknown."

"Ah, police girl. Is that the wisdom that old age has given you?" Sarcasm dripped from every word as the woman's shadows ran up and down her form, cleansing her uniform and skin of any trace of blood. "But nonetheless, she is correct."

Alucard's hands came together at the small of his back as he gave a look to each human within the room. "Yes, the rulers of yesteryear fought a war against the very elements of the world; death against life, and darkness against light. It was a war of Yin and Yang, of two opposites interlocked within battle. Because, along with the rulers of the no-life, were those that were somewhat corporeal manifestations of the light. Angels, as people call them today.

"And so, their supremacy of the world was not enough. Instead, these villainous creatures took to waging a war between Hell and Heaven. Not much is known of this war aside from that, in the aftermath, man was left with the world upon its shoulders. The benevolent spirits seemed to recede from the world while those that ruled the no-life were banished from existence. It was then that the creatures of the no-life took to the night. It is said that it was a final curse of the war. That, because of the audacity of the creatures of the no-life in seeking a war against its Yang, they were forced to march beneath the cold glow of the moon.

"In the end, it was as if neither side existed. Erased forevermore from traceable history were those that once ruled the no-life, and gone ever since are those divine sprits that descended to earth to wage war. The only records and stories exist through spoken word. From those that came from lineages that fought in the wars and from those ancient enough to have lived through them themselves."

The room was quiet for a moment. Only the faint echo of the vampire's words and the dull crackle of the fire disturbed the tense silence.

"And no-one has heard of them since then until…" Sir Integra started, the face of a new era of grievances and battle already seeming to weigh upon her shoulders.

"… Until now." Alucard's voice flitted through the air as he dispersed into a swirl of shadows and whispers of horror.

* * *

. . .

From the howling wind and whips of rain and snow alike came a woman seeking reprieve in the form of a desolate and forlorn alleyway. From beneath the woman's fur-rimmed hood, she saw within the alleyway several snowdrifts that were being eaten away at by puddles of water. Alongside the graffitied walls were dumpsters that had heaps of trash spilling out the tops of them. A wisp of wind found its way into the alley, blowing aside the snow that had been clinging to the dumpster's side. From where the snow once was now read: "PROPERTY OF CARDIFF" in large, bold letters.

Skirting around a puddle, the woman came to rest before one wall of the alley where the bricks seemed to sag in. The woman removed a glove, revealing an inhumanly pale hand. She brought it to her lips and hesitated a moment. The woman parted her lips and plunged her fangs into her wrist just as another gust of wind threw her hood back, revealing golden locks that flew in the wind and scarlet eyes that burned through the night.

Blood began dripping from the bite on the woman's wrist. She stepped back, holding it before her as she chanted in some long forgotten, guttural language that would have raised the hair on the back of anyone's neck. The blood stained the slush beneath her for several moments before a low shifting was heard. She stepped back several feat as the ground gave way to an unlit stairwell that dug far, far beneath the earth's crust. From within, the faint sound of a trumpet and swing music drifted forward, as did the smell of drink and death.

Descending into the darkness of the stairwell, the woman found the reprieve she had sought from the snow and bitter cold – though, nowadays, the cold never did bother her much. Once she was in deep enough, the slab of concrete slid back in place over her head. She kept descending; foot after foot, step after step into the dank underground. The woman paid no mind to the whispers that seemed to seep into the darkness from the walls, nor did she send a glance at the torches that, when she took her first step in a long, dank corridor, sprung to life with a dark, lurid glow. She passed through the corridor soundlessly. Only the glow of her eyes in the faint light showed there to be anyone at all.

After what could have been kilometers or even a few steps, the woman came upon a crossroad that had four mouths of other corridors connected to a common room of sorts. Here, several outdated pieces of furniture laid misshapen and sad, the years reflecting heavily upon them. A few warped and dirtied posters for events that had passed a great many years ago were hung precariously along the walls.

The woman stopped a moment beside a frayed and rotting armchair, her nose twitching as she pushed past her human sense and dipped into her vampire side. Her eyes flashed as she turned in the direction of the bitter scent of drink. She took the middle passage of the four untaken and soon came upon another staircase, this one ascending. The woman traveled down several more corridors, rounded a few corners, and chose a dozen other passages before entering a corridor that echoed the soft beat of a jazz song off its stone walls.

The woman paused by a grand oak door, her hand hesitating above the metal knocker. Within, conversations were being had and drinks were thrown back. Within, a band with a steady beat and a daring saxophone riff were entrancing the patrons with the darkened beauty of the night. Within, species intermixed and mingled as one, sharing cultures and creating memories. Within, a face resided which the woman had not seen for a great many years.

* * *

At a table by herself, Seras sat with a mug before her and her jacket beside her. Her fingers tapped along to the swing of the band while her head swiveled side to side in search of an old face. With each passing moment, Seras couldn't help but feel paranoia creep up on her. Where were they? What was taking so long? Had they found their way alright? Had something happened? Was she being blown off? What if –

 _No,_ she thought, ceasing her tapping and pushing back in her seat with a resigned sigh. _Think positive. Nothing's wrong. You're just nervous, you silly little fool. But why? It's_ only _him._

" _Only_ him? Oh, how cruel. I'm offended. Terribly, I'm afraid."

A smile stole its way across Seras' features at the melodic sound of an accent ingrained forevermore within her memories.

"Oh, yes. _Only_ him, I'm afraid. A pity, really. You should see this tosser – a real pushover, he is," Seras said, glancing up at the man.

The man was leaned against a wall, snowflakes still somehow dusting his suit jacket's shoulders. His hair, curly and voluminous, sprung out however it pleased – as rebellious as he was. Everything about the man screamed rebellious – not to mention flirtatious; from the crinkles around the dark eyes and the one arched brow to the tight slacks and 70's propaganda t-shirt covered with a suit jacket, he was, all in all, a rebellious little fuck. Wise, but unruly. Strong, but foolish. Every idea of his contrasted with his very next. Volatile some might have said, ingenious said Seras.

With her insult, the man tilted forward, mock hurt written across his features. "Oh, how rude! The audacity! The vulgar! My, my!"

"Vulgar? I haven't sworn yet. You're getting sloppy."

"No, you haven't _yet_. We'll get you there, though." With a wink for good luck, the man kicked out the seat opposite of her and plopped down. He leaned back, stretching his arms overhead and his legs beneath the table. Seras groaned and knocked his foot away when the man seemed to not give the slightest damn about personal space.

The man paused in his stretching, causing a passing fae creature with deep-set purple eyes and scales upon their forearms to duck in order to dodge his arms. He tilted his head, his eyes – as black as the night itself – assessing her. He slowly collected his appendages, a look of seriousness settling upon his features. He leaned forward over the table, elbows digging into the stained wood.

"Seras… Seras Victoria. Look at you. You've grown, I can tell. Look at you," he said, waving his hand toward her. She shook her head, resting her own arms atop the table.

"Oh, no. Let's not start this. I'm good without a reca –"

"Hush, it isn't up to you. But, look at you. _Really_ look at you. You've had some changes over past the two – or has it been three? – years. They are weighing upon you." He grew quiet for a moment, his eyes roaming freely. A certain captain within Seras' mind twitched in annoyance.

 _Calm down, Pip._

 _Qui. Calm down when another man is looking at your woman_ , grumbled the Captain within her mind. Seras had the vague sensation of the Captain pacing back and forth, rubbing at the scruff upon his chin.

 _And just where have you been? You've been quiet for the last few days_ , Seras thought, her eyes never straying from the silent man before her.

 _I've been sleeping, mignonette._

 _For three days? Either way, you've missed a lot, Captain. A lot. But, I'm not going to explain now. I'm here to catch up with an old friend. Like him or not, he's my priority at the moment. Back at the mansion, I'm sure Sir has a few things for you to do. Security improvements, double layers of –_

"Seras?" The man before her snapped his fingers, drawing her out of her thoughts. "You were thinking – well, you were speaking. To your familiar, weren't you? Your face always screws up in annoyance when you do."

In her mind, Seras heard Pip utter a few unforgivable curses before his consciousness vanished almost completely, instead taking to the nearly corporeal manifestation of her shadow that encased the Hellsing Manor. Seras rolled her shoulders, trying to dispel the prickling sensation that always spread from the small of her back to the nape of neck whenever her most faithful – and only – familiar left her presence. Even when sleeping, the Captain held within him a certain security that both reassured and strengthened Seras. He was still with her, yes. But, it was as if his consciousness drifted away to some foreign place that a sliver of her soul resided, but not her true, full self. It was difficult to explain, the sensation. It was like scratching an itch you never knew you had. Inexplicable.

"My familiar – Pip? Yes, I was. Come on, you know I don't like you messing around in my head."

"Then stop me," he said, arching a brow in challenge.

"I can stop everyone else, but not you—"

"Oh, my dear Seras! How ashamed I am of you to believe that I am a part of this 'everyone else'. You should know more than anyone else that I exceed all others in skirting around –"

"I think you mean being a nosy, sly little –"

"People's defenses. You may build a wall, but there shall always be a hole somewhere – a lose brick in the foundation," he concluded, waging a finger. "And you mustn't interrupt me, Seras."

"Oh? And why not? Why shouldn't I?" she challenged, leaning forward so that she could snatch the wagging fingers between her forefinger and thumb.

The man narrowed his eyes, lightly tugging against her hold. When she failed to concede and let him go, he began to tut and tore his finger away. And what did he do? He began to wag his fucking finger again.

"Seras, Seras, Seras. You may be the princess of our great – and, seemingly, late – king, but that doesn't mean you get privileges. Don't become the spoiled brat you are expected to be." The man stopped the wagging of his finger when Seras' expression soured. "Oh, I am merely being facetious, Seras."

When she didn't respond, the man cleared his throat and began speaking again; "But yes, let me have my look at you. Hm. Your hair is as light as ever – you put the stars to shame. Your eyes are as blood red as rubies. Your figure is as womanly as ever – eternal youth has gifted you that way. But that is all physical. Hm. Your hair is a mess. Strands all over the place. You're in a rush, aren't you? You haven't had your shadows tidy you up, you're distracted. You're eyes are wide and cautious—you aren't circumspect by nature, Seras. You're too much like me that way. Headstrong and brave. Your figure, your posture… is too posed. You seem tensed. Much like a gazelle is before the lion pounces and devours. You have always been a tiger, so why become the prey? What is it, my dear? What worries you so much?"

Through the psychoanalysis, Seras squared her jaw, fighting off the urge to beg him to quiet. His words were true, yes. But they were not words for the wrong ears to hear. She thought she tidied up nicely, but, apparently, she hadn't. He saw through her just as he always did.

"Worried? That's putting it lightly. I'm past that. I'm in shock at the moment, actually. I haven't decided what I feel. I – I… There's just so much that's happened in the last few weeks and now – now there's this new threat. This new unknown force. This – this – eugh! Another fucking antagonist!"

"And there it is, the first swear." His grin faltered as Seras ran her fingers through her tangled locks, trying to soothe her frayed wires she didn't know she had. "Another antagonist? A new threat, you mean? For Hell – ehm. Your organization?" Seras was right; the wrong ears were all around them. Hellsing was not something to bring up when at a tavern filled to the brim with all walks of the no-life.

"Yes, for my organization. And for – for… for my… for our… for the –"

"For the king, she means," hissed a cool voice that made both parties jump in their seats.

Silence fell upon the tavern as all eyes came upon a man who took a step forward from the lengthening shadows that covered the wall near Seras' table. Each click of the man's heels rung off of the high walls and rock-lined ceiling. The band's mic screeched loudly with feedback. No heads turned in the direction of the mic acting up or towards the frantic band member who rushed forward to deal with it, both embarrassed and terrified. Each no-life creature, drunk or not, had their full attention trained on the man whose duster and hat were as crimson as blood.

The man, with deep, scarlet eyes that bore into any all those that dared cast a glance directly at him, halted beside Seras with his hands clasped behind his back. Seras' eyes closed in frustration – so much for remaining inconspicuous.

As if from some unspoken cue, all the no-life creatures rose as one from barstools, the floor, perches along the walls, booths, and chairs. As one, they bowed deeply toward the crimson cloaked man, muttering words from a language born of the night. As one, they dipped further and further till the man waved his hand much like a conductor would to conclude a symphony.

"You may rise," said the deep, resounding voice of the man beside Seras. Each creature did. Not one dared to look away. "I came here to listen to music, not the silence of the grave. Move! At once! Let the no-life continue in its grandiose!"

Raising goblets and pitchers, cups and shot glasses, fists and instruments, the creatures howled and roared their delight. The jazz ensemble instantly began once again as if they had never stopped. Life seemed to have frozen for a split second around the man beside her, and life began once again with a simple word from his lips.

"Master," Seras addressed smoothly, her posture as stiff as any fine Englishwoman.

"Seras," Alucard nodded, his gaze drifting down to her.

"Oh, so in public I am addressed with my true name?" Her question hung in the air, rubbing against the tense friction between the two. How out of tune the two were with one another. "Sir Integra let you out?"

Alucard's fingers twitched with annoyance, the only sign of anything besides the bemusement that was a permanent fixture upon his features. "Why, of course. My fledgling departed, leaving me questioning her whereabouts. It was only natural that I come to find her. Lo and behold, I found her conspiring in a grand temple of virtue."

"Conspiring?" Her word bit. She turned toward him, defiantly jutting her chin up at him. Though she knew better than to act out against him in public with eyes watching and ears listening, she still wasn't going to roll over and be subservient.

With a flick of his hand toward her companion, Alucard continued on with mirth colouring his words; "That is what you're doing, isn't it? Spilling all of our secrets to some unknown? Seeking advice in… low places."

Seras' fingers gripped the table's edge so tight that her knuckles turned white. A soft crunch of wood and a few splinters from beneath her fingertips clued the elder vampire in on just how much annoyance and frustration he was causing his fledgling.

"You must control yourself, Seras, if you claim to be a paragon of maturity."

"Oh, and you should talk, you – !"

"Sir, would you like to sit?" The man opposite of Seras had rose and was offering his chair to Alucard. Alucard cocked a brow before snatching the chair away and lounging in it the same way he did with his throne; carelessly, and, in a way, narcissistically.

The man slid into the booth beside Seras. Though their thighs brushed along one another's, she didn't dare scoot away. Not with Alucard watching.

"And just who are you? Talking to my fledgling in such a casual, intimate manor?" Alucard inquired, removing his hat and placing his gloved hands on either side it.

"Intimate? Just what are you suggesting, Master? And don't speak to him in such a way –"

"Seras," the man held up a hand, silencing her. She bit her tongue though she wanted nothing more than to smack away the hand – she had developed a dislike for being silenced long, long ago. "It's alright. Yes, I suppose proper introductions are due."

The man bowed his head, his arm folded across his chest. "My name is Varfolomei Bersoni. A humble servant before you, oh lord of us no-life. I apologize on the behalf on not only myself, but of also the princess beside me who lashed you with her tongue. Such disrespect is intolerable, Sir. My apologies are contrite and full of candor."

Seras stared at him, mouth gaping open at his turn in character. Never before had she heard him speak in such a manor; in fact, he was always more or less opposed the idea of complete sovereignty and anything more extreme that an oligarchy at best. Never before had she heard him be such a… kiss ass. How brown was his nose under proper light, she wondered.

Alucard nodded, his grin widening into that of a mad cackle. "Of course, all is forgiven." His attention shifted back over to Seras. "My servant has never before been so… rebellious and spiteful. It is quite the turn of character."

"Master, you have been gone for thirty years. You have missed a great deal." Her words echoed those that she had hissed the night previous to him within the library.

"Oh, she keeps saying that. Hm. You seem to know her quite… well. Tell me, how did you two meet?"

"Well," Varfolomei snuck a glance at Seras. "We met in battle, actually. Well, more of Seras annihilating every and all assailants in her path. I, too, was in her path. She spared my life. Don't know why."

Oh, the bastard. Seras knew as well as Varfolomei that he was lying. She wasn't some one-woman army that tore through an entire brigade of armed creatures and, in a saint-like fashion, spared his life on a whim. No, she was interlocked in battle with several others, neither side finding the advantage over the other. It was a solo mission, so Seras was relying merely on herself and on Pip. A stray bullet, blessed just like hers, ripped through her shoulder, causing her to trip up and – well, the other side got the advantage. Seras had backup plans installed, had other alternatives she had been banking on in times of crisis, but she hadn't need any of them. Just as they closed in, raining down bullets and throwing knifes of blessed silver, a third party member quickly and smoothly dispatched each assailant. Through the gore and the smoldering wreckage, Seras first came face-to-face with the man with golden skin and ebony locks. In the end, it was he that saved her on a whim.

"Is that so?" Alucard looked unconvinced. "I wasn't aware that I was in the presence of the modern Maid of Orléans. Tell me, Joan D'Arc, what other acts of chivalry have you committed?"

"Quite a few, actually."

Alucard darted his eyes towards Varfolomei once again, a mixture of annoyance, distaste, and bemusement waltzing across his angular features. "Is that so? Then at least one thing has remained within my servant. If anything but an annoying human-like quality, it is refreshing to know that time has not bittered her completely."

"Bittered?" inquired Seras, narrowing her eyes. With a sudden lunge, both men tensed and drew in on themselves, prepared to strike or stop the woman. Her arms flew forward, grasping hold of – DUN, DUN, DUN – her mug. She curled her fingers around the mug, bringing the lukewarm contents up to her lips. Varfolomei sighed, relaxing against the back of the one-sided booth.

For a moment, Seras merely glared at Alucard while he simply stared at her in return, grin widening with each passing second. With a clearing of a throat, the silence was broken. Seras flickered her gaze toward a thin man with a vine tattoo spiraling up his right arm and branching out at his collarbone and neck. He had a bass in hand and a guitar in the other – both electric.

"Hey, Varfolomei," said the man uncertainly, stealing several timid glances over towards Alucard. He's most likely only ever heard stories of the king – probably all bad ones, too. "We're up in five. We need you now to do sound checks… You comin'?"

Varfolomei sent a glance towards Seras, his eyes asking the unspoken question. Was it going to be alright if he left? She nodded, prodding him along with her gloved fingers. He scooted out and straightened his suit jacket before bowing deeply. With a curt nod from Alucard, Varfolomei bided his farewell. Seras followed him with her eyes before he rounded a corner, bass in hand.

"He's quite the charmer, no?"

Seras jumped a bit, momentarily lost in thought. Of course, _he_ was still here.

"Varfolomei? He's a friend. An old friend. We go back."

"Hm. Is that why you were so close to him? I can smell him all over you," he said, his lips curling in disgust.

"You could say that, I suppose," Seras snapped back, glowering over at him.

"I could? _Close?_ Seras, you must be careful with who you… affiliate yourself with. Not all creatures of the night are loyal to me – and, to an extent, to you. There will be those who will wish to abuse both you and the power you hold, abducting you to use you as leverage and to use you as a tool of extortion."

"Extort me? No, _no._ He's not like that at all. He doesn't care the slightest for political power and all the melodramatics attached to it."

"Perhaps." Alucard looked unconvinced. He leaned forward, his hands wound together atop the table. He peered over into her mug, sniffing the air. "Blood? And… vodka? Hm. A woman with a real taste for liquor." In response, Seras tipped back the mug, drinking much of it. Alucard's impish grin returned in full before dying away into a mask of apathy. Whenever he did that in the past – long, long ago, Seras knew that she was going to be in for a tricky and rather touchy topic. Murdering of innocents? Mask of apathy. Explaining that vampires do not defecate nor do they urinate? Mask of apathy. The talk of war and the death it will entail? Mask of apathy.

"Seras," he began, clearly choosing his next words carefully. He chewed on a few words for a minute before beginning again; "Seras, you must be careful with who you affiliate yourself with for another reason. There are some creatures of the night – some species – that bond… The bond through being _close_ with another being. We vampires are one of those species. You must be careful with who you are _close_ with because, in time, you shall create a bond that nothing – not time, not distance, not death – will be able to overcome. It – it has another name, another title. It –"

"I really don't think I need to hear this." What was he saying? What was he doing? What? What? What? _No fucking way._

"Oh, but you do since you insist upon being _close_ with others. Your familiar seemed distraught when I passed him in my departure of the manor, and I agree. There is reason to worry. You still have time before you must choose. But, if you are so adamant, you must know the possible consequences. One being the inseparable bond that being sexually active brings –"

" _Master! I'm still a bloody virgin!"_

Those around the king and his fledgling fell into stunned silence. A few – those who were younger and knew less of the king and his temper – stared over at the two, mouth hanging open. Seras' cheeks reddened as she threw back the rest of her drink, trying to drown out her embarrassment. Alucard, across from her, stared at her, face devoid of everything.

This was it. This was how Seras Victoria, sire of the great king of the no-life, was going to die – public humiliation. She was tempted to laugh and try to play it off, she was tempted to get up and simply walk out, she was tempted to vanish from her spot, she was tempted to seep down into the floorboards and descend to some further level of the tunnels. She swore the handle would break off of the mug she held in a vise-like grip. Holy shit. Holy shit.

A sudden note, deep and trembling, struck through the air, catching the attention of all. Another note, half a step down in the scale, was plucked, sending another wave of vibrations through the air. The bass player with the suit jacket and unruly curls tapped his foot rhythmically before descending further on the scale, the guitar player next to him with the vine tattoos chiming in with a swift riff.

The energy that was suddenly coursing through the air, only amplified further by the entrance of the drums, was contagious. Many rose to their feet while others bobbed their heads along to the beat at their tables. From jazz to rock, the tavern acclimated accordingly. From light talk to the pumping of fists and nodding of heads, the conversion was complete.

Seras, in light of the new change in music, was forgotten – as was her blunder. She sighed in relief, daring a glance towards Alucard. Something akin to disappointment coloured his features as he watched his continuants "jam" out. Yes, Alucard more seemed to be the type to attend three hour concertos, not all night rock concerts.

Alucard rose from his seat, returning his fledgling's gaze. "Shall we?" His expression seemed to ask as he placed his hat over his ink black hair. Seras rose to her feet as well, not particularly in the mood to spend her night being tossed about in a mosh pit. So much for spending time with Varfolomei.

* * *

Walking down the corridors of the tunnel, Seras kept in stride with Alucard. Neither had spoken since their departure from the tavern. The faint sound of rock music accompanied the light echo of their footfall and the swish of Alucard's duster. Every now and again, Seras would glance over at her master, bite her lip, and open her mouth to say something, only to close it once again.

After a moment; "Master, I was there for more than company. I was trying to gather people who would and could help with the upcoming – " oh, how she hated this word, "— _war_. Varfolomei knows many, many people. He's older than me, far older than me. He may seem like a fool, but that's all a part of his act – his façade. He would know of others who would help. Others who could be of use if this threat – these old rulers of the no-life – are truly so powerful."

"Hm. You look up to him, don't you?" Though his question was rhetorical, Seras was tempted to answer. "Yes, they are truly that strong. But you needn't over exert yourself. I – as you often remind me – may have been gone for thirty years, but I still hold favor among many. I may not have been in constant contact due to my… enslavement to Hellsing, but I have managed to prolong the good relations. I am the King, after all. They answer to me."

"But," began Seras, skirting around a rotting couch with the room that several halls lead off of, "Is this a war between Hellsing and the old rulers or the no-life and the old rulers?"

Alucard was quiet for a moment, waiting beside the tunnel's entrance for Seras. "It depends on who is all brought into play."

Seras stuffed her hands within the jeans of her "incognito" street wear. She found herself lost within thought, turning over possible outcomes. She brushed over the "old rulers" who were shrouded in a layer of vague obscurity. Who were they? Truly? What threat did and could they pose against the world? As life as she knew it?

"This… This is all some game, isn't it?" Seras mumbled, gazing up at her master. In the flickering light of the torches, he might have been beautiful. But, with the thought of war on his mind, his features were contorted into something dark and vengeful; a predator deciding how to best execute his prey.

Alucard paused, as did Seras. Before them, the rock and earth overhead began to rumble and fall away till the night sky, full of hazy pollution and plump snowflakes, shone through the darkness, barely illuminating the stairs that led up to the alleyway.

"A game," he mused, lost in thought himself. "Life is always a game, Seras. It just depends on what you're willing to do – what you're willing to sacrifice – to win." He gazed at her for a moment, his thoughts foreign and unreadable. He then looked up toward the sky, starting up the stairs to get a better view. "The world is our chessboard, the earth and forests our tiles, our armies our pawns, our strategy the moves, and fate the deathblow. War is but two minds raging against one another, demanding supremacy – demanding the win. And Seras," he said, climbing up and up the stairs, "I don't lose. I don't. I always win. Always."

* * *

A/N: Alright! First off, I'd like to thank all those who review, followed, and favourited the story! Ahh! It means quite a lot to me! To all those that read this - THANK YOUUU!

Anyways, on a more serious note, I'm sorry for all the dialogue. I swear that, in future chapters, there will be more action. There just needs to be a rise before a fall, you know? Anywho, I hope you all don't mind OCs because, due to Hellsing killing off a good majority of the characters, I will be making some up. A few, and I think you all know which ones, will be coming in more and more. If you don't like any or think that they make any of the characters too OOC, please tell me!

Oh! In reference to Seras and her general snark - yes, it is intentional. I am intentionally making her a "bit" more rebellious. You can thank Pip and a certain someone (I wonder who?). If you have any further questions, ask away! If you want to review, be my gueeest!

Oh, yeah. This is going to get violent and swear a lot - all good things, yes?


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Hellsing is, unfortunately, not mine. If it were, I'd have some bomb-ass fight scenes for Seras and Integra - even more than there already are, I mean.

 **Chapter Three:** **The Lady of Fuzzes**

* * *

"Please open up. Essex police. We have a few questions."

The several knocks against the aged and warped door was answered by a thin, timid woman with mousy hair that looked as tough as a thorn bush. The woman peered around the door, her boney, trembling fingers hesitant upon the door's edge. Her face laid in half shadows, drawing long, aging lines across her face.

"Ma'am," the young constable with blond haired pulled into a tight ponytail asked, taking a step back to give the door some room. "May I come in? I have a few questions regarding last night at the Warf Pub and down by Grays Beach."

"B-by the… No, I haven't anything to say to you people. Leave me alone. Leave _us_ alone."

" _Us?_ Ma'am, we're under the impression that you live here alone." The young officer tilted her head, her bangs falling over her black sunglasses. "May I come in? This'll be easier with both of us sitting."

"No, I haven't a word on this. _Leave."_

"I can't, Ma'am, I'm under orders to –"

"Leave me be. Good day," the woman said, drawing back into her townhouse fully. She went to throw the door close, but a shoe's toe was in the way. Panicked, the woman began closing the door harder and harder, trying to kick out the young constable's shoe in between closes.

The constable sighed as the frantic woman's efforts became hasty and the door began to creak and groan against the efforts. To any mortal, the constable's foot should have been broken by now – crushed between the door and the frame of the doorway. But, to the immortal, the door and doorway would be expected to break and crumple first.

"Leave us alone! LEAVE ME BE!" cried the woman, sobbing between breaths. "You've already done enough! Just leave me – "

The constable had enough. The young officer withdrew her foot only to wedge her fingers between the closing door and pry it open with as much ease as a child did with opening a toy chest. The woman fell forward and the constable caught her in her arms, pushing her back into the unlit hallway of the townhouse before pulling the door close and locking it with a soft CHINK.

* * *

Moonlight, soft and hazy, drifted in through the sliver of window that the dark, rug-like curtains failed to cover. The moonlight accented the small, cramped living room that had far too many chairs and dressers to be comfortable. A TV sat against the wall and was faintly heard over the rhythmic plucking of fuzzes from a clearly hand-stitched quilt. A woman, frayed and spent, was crumpled into an overly stuffed armchair and was picking at her quilt that bore several names in sloppy cursive. Children and relatives, most likely. The woman's face was long and a road map of wrinkles that spoke of stress and paranoia caused by a great many terrible acts. Her eyes, wide with bags hanging low and dark beneath them, didn't dare stray from the young woman perched atop a cushion of the opposite armchair.

The woman, with each tearing of fluff from her quilt, picked out a different thing that she disliked about the young constable. The hair – it was far too light and consistent. Where were her dark roots? Hair that platinum blond was unnatural; it must surely have been dyed. The woman's gloves – though each officer the woman had ever seen wore gloves, there was something about them that spoke of something horrible. As if beneath the pristine whiteness were two instruments of evil that could create mass atrocities. The shoes – shouldn't have the officer cried out in pain when she slammed the door over and over on her foot? There were indents in the shoes that showed that the loafers took damage, but the woman's foot itself? No conceivable injury. The woman's badge – it glistened far too brightly. Too new, too shiny. And, finally, the glasses – why was the officer wearing sunglasses with such a dark tint? Why was she wearing sunglasses at night at any rate? Perhaps, thought the woman with another tear of fuzz, maybe she had a hangover. But, the woman thought as she tossed the fuzz aside, that didn't seem right.

After a few moments, the young constable cleared her throat. Her fingers danced atop the wide brimmed, blue hat she had placed over her knees. The constable frowned for a moment before opening her mouth to speak; "Ma'am, I apologize for my intrusion, but we really need to question you."

"This late at night? It's a few ticks past midnight, I'll have you know," the woman said, her eyes flickering from the constable's sunglasses, her shoes, and her glove. The woman paused in her tearing of the fuzzes and leaned forward in slow, jerky movements. Her voice lowered, her eyes leaving the constable to search the darkness that hung in the corners of the overly stuffed room; "This is a quiet town, a good town. Nothing here ever hurt nobody. This – this is a good town. A good town."

The constable nodded, leaning forward as well. Her eyes followed the woman's, scouring the darkness for any oddities. The only thing that laid in the depths of the darkness were the constable's shadows that twisted and twirled to some foreign, unheard dance. They encased the room, invisible to most mortals. The constable willed her shadows to sweep across the room, doing a quick search for any irregularities or signs of foul play. For a moment, the room darkened considerably and the TV sounded as if it were playing underneath water. A wave of shadow overcame the room, seeping into every nook and cranny of the room. From the corner of her eyes, the constable saw the woman tense. Tense as if she saw something. The constable's shadows? Impossible. Unless if the woman…

"So, ma'am, can you please tell me if you've seen or heard anything regarding the events that happened by the Warf Pub or down by Gray's Beach? We have several reports stating that you were seen coming and going around the areas during and before the time of the incidents. A few bystanders even claim that they saw you –"

"People need to mind their own business."

"Excuse me?" The woman's face was hung before her, shadows falling upon her features. Her hands had stilled, no longer plucking fuzzes from the quilt. Instead, they were balled up and the woman's nails were digging into her palm. "Did you say something?" The constable had heard fine enough the first time. The woman's reaction, though, was proving far too interesting.

"People… People are always pushing their noses where they don't belong. Poking, I meant poking," the woman mumbled as if a second thought, shaking her head. Tuffs of the mousy hair flew back and forth as the woman began swinging her head side to side. She began muttering beneath her breath, eyes wide and furious; "People… People… Mind their own business…es… Mind… Mind their own..! Businesses!"

The constable pushed herself back into the chair, giving the woman room. But the woman stopped as soon as she started. Suddenly, the woman looked up at the constable, a grimace hanging along her sagging features. The constable sucked in a breath. This questioning was proving to be more and more intriguing by the minute.

"Yes, Ma'am. Mind their own businesses. But what were you doing last night when you were minding your own business? Can you tell me?"

The woman narrowed her eyes, abhorring each and every patronizing syllable the constable uttered. The woman nodded, returning to her picking at the quilt. "Yes. Yes. I was walking. This is a good town, I'll have you know. Nobody do nothing wrong. Good town." The woman paused for a minute. The minute dragged on and on as her stare got further and further away. Her face lost all emotion, giving into the natural drag of gravity. With a quick shake of her head, the frown the woman had worn across her features since their meeting at the door was back on display, playing naturally along the lines of her face. It was if, all at once, the woman returned to herself. She plucked away at the quilt, her eyes watching the constable.

"This… There have been things happening lately. Bad things. Terrible things," the woman said.

"Bad things?"

"Yes, horrible things. Only at night. Odd."

Something was off here. "What kinds of things?"

The woman stayed silent for a moment. She just watched and plucked. "People've been disappearing. Cops don't believe it, though. They never do." She grew quiet and fiddled with a fluff. "They… They let so many things go. Right under their noses, it is. We – _I_ – haven't seen them care for anything in years. They let so many things go… But this is a good town."

The young constable cleared her throat. Right, a damn good town. Excellent. "What things have we been letting go?"

"Many things." She began tearing at the quilt again. "The little things."

The young constable wound her hands together, her elbows digging into her thighs. "Yes… We'll try to work on that. But for now, can you please tell me what you were doing down at the Warf Pub? How about Grays Beach? What about that walk you said you took?"

"I told you before: people need to mind their own business."

"Ma'am," the young constable's patience was being stretched. "With all due respect, you need to answer my question. Your information could help lead me in the right direction of – is something funny, ma'am?" The woman had began snickering and shaking her head. "This could save someone's life."

"Oh, will it?"

"Yes, it will."

"It could or it will?" she sneered.

"Ma'am, what were you doing between midnight and two in the morning last night?"

"This is a good town, but you police overlook too much."

"Ma'am," the young constable's voice raised as she leaned forward, her reserves falling away as irritability began gnawing its way at her. "What did you see or hear during the time of these incidents, it's crucial that you tell me."

"This is a good tow – "

"Yes, a good town! Good! Now, can you please explain to me why a certain Jim McGreetel said he saw you fleeing from the sight of the incident shortly after the crime was – "

"Jim is wrong! That wasn't me running, that was Susan Mulster. She ran off when she saw me – OH!"

The young constable's eyes glistened with victory as she opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by the woman suddenly screaming at the top of her lungs and throwing her quilt aside. The woman leapt from her chair, diving straight toward the constable. The constable willed her being to dissipate but nothing happened. As shock clouded her mind at her inability to immaterialize, the woman thudded into the constable. She hit the constable with more force than any mortal had. The chair and the women flew back with the force, crashing into the wall with a shower of dust and drywall. The constable's sunglass were crackled on one side and shattered on the other, showing two red eyes that glowed a fierce crimson as she growled lowly. The constable pried the woman away only to have the woman gnash her teeth and lunge forward again.

 _Fuck this_ , thought the constable as she wedged her foot between them and kicked away the woman with enough force to send her flying through a bookcase. The bookcase caved in on itself, burying the woman in a sea of shite books – all Stephanie Meyer and Dan Brown. Get some good fucking literature, for fuck's sake.

The constable stood up, wiping away the dust and bits of wall from her clothes. She stepped forward, glancing at the pile of books the woman was under. What the hell was this? Clearly this woman had a few secrets she was hiding.

A dull groan could be heard emanating from the pile of books. It grew louder and the pile rumbled. The constable braced herself just as the woman shot out of the pile of books, sending a fist toward her face. The constable grabbed hold of the fist, catching it just millimeters from her nose. The woman before the constable was no longer a woman – instead, the creature before her had shrunken in eyes, papery thin skin, scales along her neck and shoulders, claws for hands, and tentacle-like appendages for hair. No longer here was the frayed and spent woman, here to stay was the hardened and deadly creature before her.

"What are you - Medusa?" The constable asked against her better judgment.

The creature roared, bits of spit and slobber hitting the constable's face. Its breath stunk of fish and raw sewage. A delightful combination, the constable would assure you. The creature sunk its other hand's claws into the constable's side, hooking deep into her flesh. The constable cried out as the creature used its hold to swing the constable into the TV. She slammed into it, breaking through the glass and getting a nasty shock as she did.

 _Migonette!_

 _Pip_ , grumbled the constable as she tried to pick herself out of the TV only to get punched in the face and sent into another pile of useless shit. _About time._

The creature pounded its claws against its chest as its tail - a long, thin thing with a sharpened point at the end – flickered in agitation behind it. The constable raised herself a bit, assessing the damage taken so far. It seemed that the room was closer to demolition than she was.

 _I think I'm going to need you_ , the constable thought before rolling out of the way just in time to miss being stomped on by the creature.

 _You think?! You're taking a beating!_

 _Yeah, didn't notice that._

The constable rolled back, using her arms to help her jump up like action movie characters do. She shook her head, clearing it as she watched the creature pace before her. She cocked her head as the creature seemed to be talking to someone. Its mouth parted and closed, hisses and groans escaping every now and again. It seemed to be taking orders, for it lunged at her again after a slight nod.

The creature dug its claws into either side of the constable, lifting her slightly as it drove her back against the living room's wall. She felt pain this time, deep, searing pain. Like a fire within, it burned against her insides. The constable kicked and hit, trying to tear herself free. Even with her unnatural strength, the creature wouldn't budge. It just kept pushing her back, making the foundations of the house groan as it began to give way against the constable.

 _I can't! I can't help you, Seras, I can't!_ cried a panicked Pip within the constable's mind.

 _Why not?!_ She screamed through the pain and cracking of the wall behind her.

 _Something's blocking me from forming!_

 _What?!_ She glanced around, noticing for the first time her shadows were no longer lingering in the dark. Instead, a dull, soft beating drum was heard – like that of a call to war.

Panic filled her. She didn't realize her situation was this dire. Without her familiar and her shadows, it was up to her brute strength and speed to keep her alive. The constable hissed, prying the creature away with her feet as she began hitting the creature. She delivered two hard hitting punches to the creature's face that busted its lip and made its nose ooze dark goo. The creature roared, spraying globs of goo and bits of spit into the constable's face. The constable had had it – she was done with this shit.

The constable reared back against the cracking wall and head butted the creature so hard her own head buzzed. The creature dropped her, cradling its head. The constable swiped her legs, tripping the creature. As it moved to get to its feet, the constable sat atop it. Digging her knees into the creature's chest and holding the creature's head with one hand, the constable began pounding her fist over and over into its face. Its face quickly became a bloody pulp as the constable screamed; "WHAT ARE YOU AND WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?! WHY THE GIRL AND THE BOY?! WHY THEM?!"

The creature laughed through the punches, gurgling and spitting goo as it did so. Even more infuriated, the constable used her hand that held the creature's head to smack it into the floorboards over and over, denting the polished wood. "WHO?!"

"Ga ta Hell," snickered the creature as it tried to throw its weight up against the constable.

"Not before you," sneered the constable, pressing more weight against the creature's chest.

The tentacle-like appendages began moving, diving towards the constable's hands. The constable let the creature go, and was immediately thrown off as the creature scrambled to its feet. The constable doubled back, missing a wide kick aimed towards her face. She tucked and rolled as another kick was sent towards her. She jumped to her feet, moving a few feet back as she assessed the scene before her. The room was demolished and a small fire has sparked up over where the broken TV sat in a heap with wires thrown about carelessly. The constable's clothes had been cut and torn, blood seeping through the fabric in places where the wall and shards of glass from the TV had cut her flesh. Without her shadows, her rate of healing was slowed immensely.

The creature rolled its shoulders as the constable tensed and readied herself. With a cry, the creature flew forward, aiming for the constable's neck. The constable sidestepped it and brought her shoulder down hard on the creature's back, sending it stumbling into the wall. It screeched, using the wall to propel itself off of toward the constable. The constable turned on her heels in time to get the wind knocked out of her as both she and the creature were thrown against boxes of miscellaneous items. The creature rolled on top of the constable and gnashed and clawed, tearing the constable's flesh. The skin ripped with a sickly "prshhh" sound with the squelching of her juices and blood accompanying it. The constable growled low, hitting the creature's sides with enough force she knew she at least broke six ribs. The creature screeched again, sending more of its vile, black blood and spit on the constable's bloodied face. It pinned her arms down, opening its jaws wide. Teeth, long and yellowed, made up three rows along the bottom of the creature's mouth and two rows up on the top. It lunged down, biting at where the constable's head just was. She had moved her head just a fraction enough far away in the nick of time – but not quick enough to avoid the creature clamping down on her shoulder.

It closed down hard on her shoulder, the sound of bones crunching and breaking loud and echoing in the small living room. The constable screamed, feeling the limb being severed as tendons and ligaments and muscle and sinew and bone were being bitten through. The constable raised her head, gritting as she felt her arm being torn through, and clamped down on the creature's neck. Her razor-sharp teeth tore easily through the creature's flesh and punctured the arteries. The creature's blood spurted into her mouth and she almost vomited. The taste was worse than the look; it was like eating jalapeño juice mixed with milk left out to rot for a week. But she bit down harder, feeling the bone's snap and the flesh tear as her did. The creature let go of her shoulder and screeched so high it made the constable's ears ring – but still she held on. Any normal mortal would have died, but still the creature clung to life. The creature released her arms as it tried to release itself from the constable's bite. It thrashed and raged against the constable's hold. Against the protest of the constable's body, she forced herself to swallow the thick, creamy blood that made her stomach flip and her eyes water. She held the creature that screeched and hit and kicked tightly with her good hand, her eyes burning a deep scarlet as she drank in the creature's blood, feeling the creature's life leave its body.

Its movements became sluggish until nothing was left but small spasms. Once the constable was sure the creature was dead, she wiggled and forced her way out from beneath the limp body. She sat up, staring down at the creature whose black, glassy eyes reflected the growing fire's light. She sighed, catching her breath that she knew didn't mean a damn thing anymore. Nothing meant anything anymore if this was all her second chance at life was. Killing or being killed.

But now was not the time for the melodramatics. She found her way to her knees, then to her feet. She staggered forward, then backwards, shaking her head slowly to clear it of its lightheadedness. She glanced around her, vaguely noticing how the electric fire has spread, eating away at the curtains and boxes. She felt her shoulder grow back slowly and felt the slow pounding of pain that resonated within her being. This wasn't like her, she rarely ever got this hurt. And what was that – she glanced back at the being – creature? A fae? She'd never seen one like that before. Certainly not one that could shape shift so quickly, and certainly not one that could pass so seamlessly as a human.

Smoke drifted through the air, clotting up at the ceiling and pouring out of the broken windows and walls. The constable stepped forward, toward the hallway that lead out of the house when her foot caught on something. She looked down and saw the quilt – the one with the fuzzes. She bent, picking it up. In the light of the growing fire, she read the names of the relatives of the creature – no, _woman_ – who laid at her feet, dead by her doing. She felt a prickling at the corners of her eyes and a deep tug in the gut of her stomach that never seemed to go away after all these years of waging hell.

She turned towards the woman. She used the heel of her shoe to turn the body over, onto its back so that the constable could cover the body in the quilt. And as she bowed her head, clutched her nearly severed shoulder, and left the room to the devouring flames, she sent up a silent prayer to God – should he choose to listen to a creature dammed.

Outside the house, Seras Victoria walked off into the shadows and dusk as the house went up in flames and secrets.

* * *

Down by Grays Beach were the moon shined upon the hardened, blackened surface of the water, did Seras find herself. She had found that, as she left the house of the woman – Rosinina Yalor, her head cleared more and more. Seras hadn't noticed that a fog had settled on her mind and weakened her powers till it was too late. She felt violated and stripped of some ancient right. It wasn't fair – taking and sapping her powers in some desperate hope of overpowering her. It felt cowardly, too, on the part of those who drained her. If they thought they stood no chance of defeating her with her powers fully intact, they had no right to attack her.

She knew, though, that rules weren't often played by in the world of the dark. In true, horrible wars, there were no set rules. There was no line not to be crossed – all was fair game. Even rendering your enemy weak by cowardice means.

Seras had found that, too, her powers had returned the more she put distance between herself and the house. Now, her shadows were stitching her shoulder back in place and repairing her clothes. Her shadows moved in slow, almost groggy motions as if they were still waking up after being repressed. Her stomach still churned from the foul blood drunk from the woman. She shivered, thinking of the taste and the goo-like way in fell in globs from the woman's wounds.

 _But_ , Seras thought as she leaned down next to the waves that rolled in coolly against the sand, _what disturbs me the most is how that woman seemed to be fighting whatever creature she turned into. She both was and wasn't herself when I was questioning her. I should have helped… I should have noticed sooner and have done something, not continuing to provoke her… But what_ did _she turn into? I've never seen that before. Never. And that strength. What was she? And why was she here?_ Seras looked up and glanced around, looking at the "DO NOT CROSS" tape that wrapped around railings and poles, marking off the beach for police investigation.

"What was she..?"

"Who was who?" Seras' eyes widened as she spun around, her shadows encasing her in a protective suit of withering darkness. Her eyes scoured the darkness for the whispered question, honing in on every object until she saw – wait, Varfolomei?

Sure enough, he was leaned against a smokestack atop a building that had police barricades blocking the entrances, too. He stared down at her, the moon illuminating his wolfish grin. When the grin wasn't returned, he tilted his head to the side, better focusing his gaze on her. When he saw that her defenses weren't dropped and that her shadows still swarmed around her in a darkened fury, his grin slipped from its place. He stepped off of the roof, plummeting to the ground. Seras sighed, looking away as she let her shadows settle into the surrounding night. A few stayed on her, repairing her wounds. She sat down on her haunches, looking at a footprint. She, herself, was hovering off the ground a bit to avoid any confusion of new evidence by the police.

"Be sure not to step on the beach," she said quietly, knowing Varfolomei would hear. "It's a crime scene and should be treated like one."

"Once a cop, always a cop," Varfolomei said as he floated along the breeze, arms folded behind his head. His eyes shifted from the beach to Seras. His gaze flickered from the bits of flesh missing and being repaired on her face and neck to her shoulder that still hung at an awkward angle, having to be cradled by her shadows. "What happened to you?" He floated down before her, the tips of his dress shoes just millimeters from the sand.

Seras looked up, his serious tone making her features screw up in confusion – which, if she admitted, hurt like a bitch when the muscles and skin were healing. "A mission," she said as if that explained everything.

A questioning brow raise from Varfolomei meant that that explanation didn't cut it. "I was here to, ah… Research this new threat to my – " she glanced around, unsure if any creatures were lurking in the darkness " – organization. And, well, it seems that I found out the tip we got from a certain someone proved to be worthy. I mean, just look at me. It seems that they were right."

"About what? What were they right about?" Varfolomei stepped forward, still hovering just above the sand. He crouched down, his hand reaching out as if to brush along her face. Seras flinched at the gesture and looked down after a moment. Varfolomei's hand trembled slightly as if shocked before he retracted it, setting it atop his knee. He cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension that had grown between them. He knew that this wasn't acceptable after _that_ , but he couldn't stop himself. Those actions were every bit apart of him as his breathing – which, yes, he did do. Seras, long before _that_ had happened, had asked why he still breathes, but he had merely laughed and waved away the question. He licked his lips, looking out at the Thames that churned slowly against the current of the night.

"What," he began again, breaking the silence that had grown between them. "What were they right about?"

"The lead being dangerous," she muttered under her breath, taking to looking at the footprints again. These footprints certainly looked bigger than the average women's, but if the woman had transformed into a creature…

"Then why did you go?"

"Why did I – oh. The mission, right." Seras had grown accustomed to working alone – Pip didn't count, much to his dismay – on missions over the years, so the extra person to tell her findings to made the night that much more unbearable. "Because someone had to go."

"But it was dangerous."

Seras looked up with a stern expression, years of war and battle etched along her healing features. "Yes, and so is the rest of life. You've never been one to doubt my strength, Varfolo – "

"Yes, but I don't think you understand just how dangerous your missions are _going_ to get."

Her brows screwed up in confusion, pulling along the newly formed muscles and skin. "What do you mean?"

"This new threat you're facing, I think I know what it is. If it's what I think it is, then we're all royally fucked. If it is, you can't go on these missions of yours by yourself anymore. I don't give a fuck, I'll go up to that iron woman myself and demand that you – "

"You'll demand _what_?" hissed a voice from the darkness.

Varfolomei and Seras snapped their attention toward the flickering lights lining the river walk that ran parallel to the beach, separating the buildings and the sand. From the growing darkness came a figure cloaked in red – deep, dark, crimson red.

"Master," Seras breathed, almost relieved for his sudden presence – a feeling that was rare nowadays for her. Varfolomei, although, stiffened beside Seras. He rose to his feet, folding his arm across his chest and bending at the waist. Alucard came to stand behind the river walk's railing, staring down at the man. Alucard's gaze flickered towards Seras, his eyes blazing a bit brighter as he took in her current state.

She cursed inwardly, using her shadows to cover her wounds, although she knew better than to believe simply hiding the wounds would make her master forget they were there.

"Excuse me," Varfolomei said, bending even lower. Unlike at the tavern, Alucard looked to be in no mood to let the man come out of his bow. In fact, he looked as if he wanted him to bow even further down. "You have caught me at ill times twice in this week, I do humbly apologize."

"You do? 'Ill times' because I have caught you conversing with my fledgling on two accounts of things I consider to be treasonous? Or 'ill times' because I have caught you in inappropriate, intimate situations?"

"Intimate?" Varfolomei glanced over at Seras, still low in his bow. "I just found her – "

"And just _how_ did you find her? Were you following her? If so, do care to explain the current state of my fledgling."

"This happened on her mission."

"Oh," Alucard's eyes burned a deep scarlet. "You know of her missions, too? Aren't you two just the closest?"

"No," Varfolomei said, meeting Alucard's gaze. Although his position was supposed to render him subservient, Varfolomei's gaze was leveled and sure, almost challenging the anger of the King.

Alucard snarled; "You never did say how you found her. You keep skirting around questions, don't you?"

"You haven't given me a moment to answer – "

"Is that so? Please, by all means, do take your time in answering your – "

"Oh, shut up."

Both of the men turned to stare at Seras. One looked over with wide eyes as the other bore down at her with a fiery wrath.

"Stop being so bloody melodramatic – this isn't a soap opera." Varfolomei came out of his bow, much to Alucard's great displeasure. Seras rose, her shoulders back and her chin up – her stance of power. This stance often meant that she was about to command the attention of her men and impose her rule. Accustomed to being the leader for years upon years in her master's absence, she had become used to squaring her shoulders and giving orders. "This is something graver, _far_ graver, I'm afraid, and I haven't the time for men bickering. You got that?"

Alucard peered down at her, his expression mixed between being proud of her for taking charge and anger at being silenced – the latter more prominent. Varfolomei, however, looked over at her as if her taking the reins was normal – after all, she _was_ the great sire of Alucard, king of the no-life, meaning that she did hold a natural power over those of the no-life.

"Yes, Seras, I was merely – "

"You know nothing of the gravity this situation holds, fledgling," Alucard hissed, melting through the railing. He stepped down to the beach, his boots making heavy imprints in the sand.

"Your shoes - !"

"Do _not_ interrupt me, servant!" he bellowed, striding forward and taking her chin between his clothed fingers. She stared up at him, shock and blinding hatred intermingling along her still-healing features. "You have overstepped your place far too many times for me to overlook it. I have dismissed your intolerant behavior as a phase of settling back to taking orders from me, but this has clearly gotten out of hand. Who do you think you are to be giving orders in my presence? To me directly? I have never taken you to be a vacuous, insipid shrew – but you must be one for to challenge my rule and my authority takes the audacity of a thousand men – "

"Sir," said a low, careful voice – a kind of voice one uses to mask deep, churning anger. "With all due respect, you must give Seras some room. She's still healing, if you can't tell." Seras flickered her attention to her peripherals, taking in the sight of Varfolomei taking several steps closer. Alucard, however, kept his intense, all-burning gaze upon Seras.

"Injury does not cause stupidity."

"Perhaps not, but it does give leeway to ire. Which, if you can't tell, she has more than enough of at the moment. Though I think you two have some problems to sort out, here and now – in the open – is not the place to do it."

Alucard glanced around, taking in the darkness that shimmered at the edge of the beach, giving illusions to the mind of hidden enemies lying in wait for the perfect moment to strike or the perfect words to spread blasphemy throughout the kingdom of the no-life with. Begrudgingly, Alucard tore his hand from Seras' chin, leaving a dark, purple bruise. Seras hissed, flashing her fangs. Alucard seethed, his shadows muttering and churning in fury. But they stayed apart of one another with Varfolomei stepping between them, eyes on Seras but body facing Alucard.

His eyes asked an unspoken question and she nodded. He continued on; "There is a place near here where there is safety. I propose that we leave this town – this situation, and go there to talk. I feel that there is more to talk over than your problems."

* * *

In the countryside of rolling, golden waves of wheat and dipping oceans of grass, did a hollow in a tree rest. Against the rays of the sun, the hollow was black and bare, giving the illusion of normalcy. However, at night, the hollow seemed to grow and swallow the darkness with a subtle, quiet pulsing. As if alive, the tree creaked as the hollow stretched, and the tree groaned as the hollow contracted. If one were to listen carefully, they may be able to hear the faintest of sounds; music, with the dull quality of a record scratched, seemed to float in the night air from the hollow. And if one were to lay their hand against the bark near the hollow, one could swear that they felt a deep warmth emanating from something dark. Here, in the tree with a hollow, did an old soul seek reprieve when the moon grazed over the fields of wheat and seas of green. Here, did a party of three find themselves on the doormat of.

Alucard stepped first out of the darkness, followed by Seras, and caboosed by Varfolomei. Seras stepped away from the tree with the hollow - their final destination, unbeknownst to her. With her inhuman sight, she gazed over the field of crop and imagined floating atop the stalks of wheat, unburdened and light. There, she wouldn't have to worry about a looming war or the failing bounds of a master and servant. But, such a place was conceived of imagination and served no place in reality.

Seras leaned against a tree, sighing as her shadows continued to stitch and sew her shoulder back into place. She could move it now, yes, but it still hurt like hell. It wasn't a pain on the level of the body, but rather on the soul. As if she had been tainted. She rolled her shoulder, trying to dispel that notion. Of course she wasn't tainted, it was simply a bite. Creatures of the no-life were immune to the poisons and vile powers of other no-life creatures, right? Right?

Seras heard a branch snap behind her. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to find Varfolomei leading Alucard off to their destination, but, to her great dismay, she found nothing but the silent whisper of wind along the leaves of trees. Panicked, she kicked off of the tree and moved towards where Alucard's shadows had dropped them off. She glanced around, looking for any sign of the two. Nothing.

Seras put up her defenses and tensed herself, ready for any ambush that may try to capture her by surprise. She tuned in to the noises of the forest; the gurgling of a nearby stream, the gentle flutter of leaves, the knocking of branches, the sway of a song, the whisper of wheat blowing in the wind, the – wait. A song? Seras tuned in to the song. It was slow and gentle, a man singing with an ensemble playing quietly beneath him. It was… "Nights in White Satin" by the Moody Blues. Seras cocked her head, her defenses falling slightly. The Moody Blues? At this time of the night?

She stepped towards the music, her ears tuned in fully to the song. Her brows knitted together in confusion as she stepped closer to a tree with a hollow. The song was definitely coming from the hollow. She bent at the waist, leaning forward a bit to brush her clothed fingers against the hollow. The hollow was warm to the touch and thrummed with dark energy – and had the fucking Moody Blues coming from within. What the hell?

She drove her fingers into the darkness of the hollow, feeling for the wood within. Her fingers felt along something mesh and flesh-like before passing through it. "What the – " was all she got out before something tugged and pulled her in from the other side of the hollow.

Seras batted her eyes open to find herself within a parlor. Abstract paintings rich with colour were hung along the wall with thick vines curling between. Seras looked around, trying to get her bearings. The song had changed, and so had the record. The intro to "The House of the Rising Sun" by The Animals echoed from a hallway that leads off from the parlor. Beneath the song was the sound of conversation; two voices, both low and timeless, whispered back and forth. Seras leaned forward, straining to hear what they were saying. It was if something was blocking her senses. She could hear little snippets, but nothing of value.

Seras shook her head, disliking the feeling of her powers being repressed for the second time that night. A shadow slithered over her shoulder, muttering something in her ear. She turned towards it only to see the fleeting tail of it crept across her back, joining with the manifested shadows that made up her left arm. For a moment, the arm thrummed beneath the sleeves of the constable attire before settling back down. Seras rolled her newly formed shoulder, making a noise of satisfaction as it moved without the slightest problem.

A raised whisper from somewhere at the end of the hall caught her attention, bringing her focus back to the parlor she'd found herself in. Seras took a cautious step forward, listening in on the voices. She left the parlor and entered the hall. The hall was dark and long. Seras' vampiric senses took over, allowing her full view of the hall. At least her sight wasn't hindered.

The hall had records in glass cases hung with care along the walls. Tittles and dates were inscribed on the gold platting. Some records were signed by producers and band members. Had this been another time, Seras may have stopped and gawked at the records.

With ease, Seras found the room the voices and the song drifted from. Seras paused at the entry to the room, her shadows flickering at her heels. She peeped around the corner and looked into the room. The walls were a dark purple, giving off the feeling of coolness and detachment; a fire purred in the fireplace and sent shadows dancing on the far walls; the record player was tucked away in one corner next to a potted plant with large, heart-like leaves that moved whimsically; the dank smell of earth hung in the room, not so strong that it makes one wrinkle their nose, but rather leaves the person with a sense of early spring; instruments lined one wall, all on stands with heaps of music laying around in piles; a cluster of chairs faced the fire, each one looking as if it was taken out of a different era. In those chairs were two men. One tall and thin with an aura of dark, terrible gravitas that was nearly tangible; the other tall and lean with a feeling of acute sharpness and down-to-earth sensibility radiating from him. Alucard and Varfolomei.

Seras stepped into the room, watching the two men who leaned forward in interest and intrigue. One with an arrogant air to his posture, and the other with a firm stiffness to his. They seemed to be engaged in deep conversation, the reserves and tension of earlier clearly missing. After a moment, Seras walked over to a vacant chair and seated herself. The two looked up. Varfolomei gave her a curt nod as Alucard gave her a wide, toothy smile. Nothing good could come of this.

"How nice of you to join us," Alucard said, leaning back in his chair. "You've missed much of the conversation, but your dear acquaintance here has told me quite enough to know why you respect him so much – like a puppy, she is," he gestured toward Seras. She sighed in response. "I've asked him how my domain has fared in the years of my absence. Quite well, apparently."

"Yes," Varfolomei agreed, resting his elbows on his knees. "Very well." He gazed over at Seras, his eyes wondering from where each wound had been. Alucard cocked his head, his smile gaping open as he watched the man appraise his fledgling.

"And he told me about how you've been helping the kingdom along." Alucard steepled his hands together, resting his fingers against his nose and lips. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Seras said slowly, the question posed as more of an accusation that a real enquiry. "I did. When Sir Integra didn't need me running around on missions or training the men, I was helping out here and there. Small things, really."

Alucard chuckled. "You have grown well in my absence, child. Very well. Almost _too_ well. You're overconfident." _Like he's one to talk_ , Seras thought. Alucard's grin jackknifed across his features, giving Seras the feeling that he had heard her thoughts – or felt the smug feeling of contempt through their bond. "We have much to do together." After a moment of just sitting there and staring at her, he continued; "But I see you haven't told your dear friend what threat we're up against."

"Well, you haven't exactly given me the opportunity to. That, and I'm not even sure what we're up against, really. Everything's so vague." She knitted her brows together, staring down at her gloves that still had the black, gooey blood stained on it. Absentmindedly, she sent a shadow to cleanse the gloves. "And everything's so confusing. I mean, I'm sure the mission I was just on had something to do with it. It was so weird – the woman. She just was herself and then she wasn't. Boom."

Varfolomei picked up his head, winding his hands together between his thighs. "You never said anything strange about a woman. Is that what happened? Did she attack you?"

"The woman? I don't know if it was her or not. I was questioning her about some gruesome murders – the reason why the beach and pub were shut down, and I got her to confess something, and then… Well, she freaked out. She tackled me. And then she turned into this... thing. I don't think it was her anymore. I couldn't dissipate or call my shadows or materialize Pip. It's never happened before. My powers were fine before she attacked me. And everything was normal in the room – I even did a sweep of the room to check for anything. It was like… Like something was blocking my powers. I've never felt anything like it before. It was so – "

"Your powers?" Alucard leaned forward, his smile falling away. "Something stripped you of your powers?"

"I – yes."

Alucard rose from his chair, a look of terrible wrath and maddening excitement playing for dominance – his face of war. Varfolomei stood, confusion evident on his features.

"What? What does this mean?"

A low, dark chuckle rung through the room as shadows stirred along the walls. The room grew colder as shadows snuffed out the fire and deafened out the music. Mirth colored Alucard's features as his grin took up suit again, slicing across his features with razor-sharp incisors on full display. "They're stronger than what I thought. They must have been waiting."

"Who?" Varfolomei asked, his confusion and frustration growing. Seras felt her stomach drop out and a weight slam upon her shoulders. _Oh, God,_ she thought. _No… This is too soon._

"You'll find out. We will all find out soon enough. Because they're coming – oh, yes. Yes, they're coming. With a vengeance the like the world has never seen before. They're coming back from the grave to submit the world to death. They shall wage a war that shall truly tear Heaven and Hell apart, leaving the earth demolished in its wake. They are - " Alucard raised his arms, his grin maniac and all-consuming - "coming. And we shall all rue the day we ever tried for our freedom."

* * *

A/N: Hello! Thank you for all of those that read this! And a special thanks to those that follow/favorite/review! It means a heck of a lot to me! You guys keep me writing!

I'd just like to say, here and now, that I am writing this whenever I get stuck (with writer's block, damn thing) on my personal fiction story. I find that fanfiction is a good creative outlet that helps provide me with feedback and a platform that I can continuously improve on.

Such as it is, I'm writing this at 3 am on a Wednesday (well, Thursday now, I guess). I've been writing this story anywhere between 10pm - 2am, so if anything is unclear or doesn't make sense, tell me, please! I'm trying my best to edit, but I can only do so much when I'm tired as heck. I'd also like it if you guys could tell me if anyone is OOC or if my OCs get annoying. I appreciate the feedback! (Especially when I'm experiencing writer's block.) But, on a good note. I've been averaging 1,000ish words a night on this bad boy, so I'm hoping to get another chapter out soon. I plan for the next one to be mostly plot building. I've kind of gotten sick of this whole "aimless shit and characters popping up shit" in the first three chapters, so I'm really going to build the plot next chapter. It'll be a doozy.

THANK YOU FOR READING THIS! THIS MEANS A LOT TO ME! SORRY ABOUT THE LONG NOTE?


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